


Helpless and Hungry

by HigherMagic



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Begging, Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Cock Warming, Daddy Dom Hannibal Lecter, Daddy Kink, Dark Will Graham, Dom Hannibal Lecter, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Forced Orgasm, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Knifeplay, M/M, Murder Husbands, Mutual Masturbation, Possessive Behavior, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Sadism, Sadist Will Graham, Scarification, Submissive Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:55:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27112255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: Will is so sweet after Hannibal lets Will hurt him. The dichotomous nature of a sadist and a sexual submissive is something Hannibal can't resist, especially not when it manifests in his boy's intriguing mind. Will is so beautiful, so disarming when he's sweet, so cruel when he wants to be.Hannibal adores him.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 300





	Helpless and Hungry

**Author's Note:**

> Fleshed out this twitfic featuring sadist sub Will and Daddy Hannibal. Enjoy! <3

Will likes holding onto his knife. It's like a...safety blanket. It fits perfectly in his hand, steel with inlaid pearl. Daddy designed it himself, a switchblade, the handle heavy, curved to nestle right in the center of his palm, the blade thin and deadly-sharp. Daddy gives him so many wonderful gifts, but this one is Will's favorite.

He holds it, sheathed, for now. An anchor, a lifeline. A guarantee of survival instead of a safeword.

Hannibal regards his precious boy, a fond smile on his face. They're in bed, drawn like the sun to the horizon. Will is on his knees, between Hannibal's bare thighs, braced over Hannibal. His nape cradled in Hannibal's loving hand. Just as Will holds his knife, Hannibal holds Will, as Will's back arches, he groans and lets out pitiful noises against Hannibal's neck. He's leaking, precum and sweat shining on his bare skin.

He's such a good boy. With his scent, so sweet with fevered arousal, between Hannibal's fingers, Hannibal's nose crushed to Will's sweat-damp hair as Will ruts against him, no better than an animal.

"Daddy," Will whines breathlessly, after a long stretch of silence broken only by his weak noises, the creak of the mattress beneath their bodies. His knees spread out wider, pushing Hannibal's thighs up, cradling him as Hannibal cradles Will.

Will mouths at Hannibal's pulse, draws his fists in. His forearms frame Hannibal's hips. The knife in his hand gleams in the halo from the bedside lamp. "Daddy, please, can I -?"

Hannibal smiles and kisses Will's hair. "Have you earned it, Will?" he purrs, watching with pleasure as Will's shoulders roll, tense. His knuckles go white around his knife, thumb petting the mechanism that will let the blade spring free.

"I want to," Will replies, with just a tinge of petulance. He fights the strong press of Hannibal's hand on the nape of his neck, but the leverage and angle are not in his favor.

This is Hannibal's design, weapon or no.

He does not fear Will. How could he fear his own creation? The half-formed creature he found in the darkness and lovingly molded until it was strong enough to bear the light of its own existence?

Hannibal cups Will's face and draws him up, kissing Will's slack mouth. Will grips his hips, pushes harder, his erection rutting against Hannibal's, so warm and desperate and wet. He doesn't touch, he knows better. Doesn't bite, doesn't cut.

But he wants to. Hannibal can smell his desire, feel it like a physical thing. He draws Will's lower lip between his teeth and bites down hard. Will flinches, and nuzzles him, plaintive against his neck.

"Please, Daddy," he tries again. He knows if he gets the timbre and pitch just right, he'll get what he wants. But it's difficult when he's so on edge. " _Please_. Just a little. I'll be gentle."

Hannibal wants to laugh, but Will chooses that moment to push the warmed handle of the knife against Hannibal's hip bone, reminding him it's there. Drags, nails and metal, along the small lattice of scars cut into Hannibal's thigh. They are numerous, some very old, some fresh as the previous hour. Will was _very_ good, after all, today. Hannibal put him on his knees with his precious knife clutched, had Will keep his cock warm while Hannibal made sure the press hadn't correlated their kill with the hunt for them.

Hannibal shivers, thinking of the way Will's dark, beautiful eyes had looked up at him, held him, until Hannibal said he could cut. A single line, then another, shallow as fresh snow. Will likes to paint his fingers with it, likes to suck them into his mouth even around Hannibal's cock.

The tension in his stomach is growing unbearable. He sits up and pulls Will into his lap, straddling his hips so Will can really grind down on him, the inside of his pale thighs so warm, sensitive when Hannibal touches him. Will flicks the blade open, the tiniest sound, the promise of death or grievous harm.

"Where?" Hannibal asks. He always makes Will tell him. Always makes Will ask permission.

Will bites his lower lip, eyes raking down. His swollen lips twitch, lopsided and sharp at the corners, cutting dimples into his red cheeks.

He puts the very tip of the blade to the beading precum at the slit of Hannibal's cock, slowing his pace so he doesn't accidentally cut. Will detests leaving uneven lines, refuses to make mistakes. Every cut, every scar and welt, is perfectly planned, flawlessly executed. His darling boy demands no less.

Hannibal is not afraid of the sharp weapon, nor the skill of the man who wields it. "You're needy today," he notes. Will bites his lower lip, nudges their noses, lips, foreheads together in quick succession. He begs for a kiss, wordlessly – another need Hannibal is helpless but to sate.

Will draws back, sucking in a hard breath. His exhale smells like blood and come, from when Hannibal finally took Will's hair in his hands and fucked his throat until he finished, feeding his darling boy his well-earned dessert.

Will's eyes flash. He draws the tip of his knife away and resumes his pace, breathing hard, cupping Hannibal's nape with his free hand.

"Anywhere," he says. "I don't care where. I promise."

He kisses Hannibal, lashes low, and rasps, so needy and sweet, "Where can I cut you, Daddy?"

Hannibal's upper lip twitches back. Will's eyes flash. Hannibal takes Will's wrist, turns them, until Will's blade lays over the very end of the scars left by the attack of one Matthew Brown.

Will's eyes darken. " _Yes_ ," he whispers, moans. He leans down and kisses Hannibal over his scar, opens his mouth wide. Slides the knife across the tip, bracketing the scar shallowly and swallows the red that leaks out.

" _Yes_ ," he says again, throaty and raw. He cuts again, the scent in his lungs, the hunting dog let off the leash.

The initial cuts bring no pain, and the sharp sting after is tempered by Will's warm, wet mouth. Hannibal's own instinct to destroy what might do him harm is settled by seeing how Will trembles at every touch, every taste. His eyes are wet, glassy, black as the abyss. Will's cock twitches every time he tastes, he nuzzles the third cut, the fourth, smearing blood and saliva across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose.

Hannibal snarls, and grabs Will by the hair, yanking him up after Will tries to lay the blade down a fifth time. "Greedy boy," Hannibal says. His arm is no less strong for the wounds. Will whimpers into his mouth, plants his hands on Hannibal's chest, knife still extended. He is a master of it, he will not cut again unless given permission.

"Beg," Hannibal hisses.

"Please." The word is so raw, stained with blood, Will's tongue and teeth and sinful mouth. Hannibal releases his hair, grabs Will's hand, and pushes their forearms together, coloring Will's skin, and lowers their entwined fists to their cocks. Blood wells up and stains, slickens. Will whimpers, toes curling, jaw tight, nostrils flared. He sobs as Hannibal forces him to touch himself, touch both of them, fists pumping quickly.

"I don't want to stop."

"I decide when you earn more," Hannibal reminds him.

Will nuzzles him, every muscle going tense. "No," he pleads, "not yet, please, Daddy, not yet -." But he's helpless. Hannibal made sure of it.

Will comes with a weak sound, shaking so hard he has to let the knife go or risk leaving a mark he doesn't mean to make. Hannibal makes him keep going, stroking oversensitive flesh while Hannibal chases his own orgasm. He can tell Will is in pain, but he's a good boy, his darling boy...

"Look at me." Will does, red on his face, eyes black. Hannibal grabs his chin and forces eye contact as he finishes. He makes Will feel what Hannibal does, his beautiful boy's all-seeing eyes wide open and taking it all in. Hannibal always penetrates him, in mind if he does not in body. He makes Will _see_ how much pleasure Hannibal takes in literally forcing his hand. Makes Will see that every concession, every cut, is a reward that Will must earn.

Will whimpers, flinches, but does not pull away. He leans in instead, kissing Hannibal's mouth as he twitches through the last of his orgasm, come and blood mixed together on their laced fingers.

Hannibal sighs, and lifts their hands, sliding along Will's mouth. "Clean this up," he commands. Will obeys immediately, clever tongue curling, sucking their fingers clean. Their palms, their wrists. Hannibal grabs his hair and makes Will lick his stomach clean as well.

When he's satisfied, he sits up, and takes Will's knife. Will tenses, hackles up, defensive. "Daddy?" he whispers, unsure, afraid for the first time without his promise of safety, of what little control he thinks he needs to manifest in the physical.

As though Hannibal would ever truly harm him, or let himself be harmed, in a way they did not both enjoy. Not now. Not when Will was so good for him.

Hannibal smiles, folds the blade into its handle, and holds it out to Will.

Will takes it like he expects it to be snatched away from him and sighs with relief as his wet fingers close around the handle, smiling. His eyes show a little blue again, the barest hint of humanity peeking out. Hannibal cups his face and kisses him gently.

"Make sure to clean it thoroughly," he says, as though Will needs reminding.

As though he does not clutch and tend to this precious gift his Daddy gave him like it's Hannibal himself.

"I will," he promises, and sighs into another kiss. Will is so sweet after Hannibal lets Will hurt him. The dichotomous nature of a sadist and a sexual submissive is something Hannibal can't resist, especially not when it manifests in his boy's intriguing mind. Will is so beautiful, so disarming when he's sweet, so cruel when he wants to be. Hannibal adores him.

His need for bloodshed is satisfied, for now, until the hunt begins again. Hannibal wonders if Will might come to him in his dreams, wandering his mind palace like the master of the house. If he might cut deeper, knowing Hannibal's imagination is enough to make him feel the pain. If he'll destroy Hannibal, carve him to the bone, begging all the while for more, _more_.

Insatiable boy.

"Thank you, Daddy," Will murmurs, nuzzling him, lashes fluttering with the remnants of forced empathy and his submissive, pliant mental state. His fingers do not shake, but his heart races when Hannibal touches his neck. "Do you need bandages?"

Hannibal smiles. "No, darling, you were gentle, just like you promised."

Will shivers, and Hannibal's smile widens, so in love with how Will can still blush that lovely shade of pink, the specific sweet rose blush of pride. His eyes drop down to the new cuts, perfectly lined up and crossing Hannibal's older wounds like a child's attempt at drawing surgical stitches.

His eyes darken, and Hannibal takes his chin, forcing their eyes to meet.

"If you are good, and are quick, I'll let you reopen them, so they scar properly." Will's eyes flash with eagerness.

He only delays long enough to steal one last kiss, before he's on his feet, and heading towards the bathroom to clean his knife. Hannibal watches Will go, naked and fine, every inch of him a beautiful feast for Hannibal's greedy gaze. He gets up and repositions the sheets to something that will suit bedtime, listening as Will washes his knife with utmost care, and returns with another warm bowl of soapy water, and a towel, and some oil to prevent tarnish when he's finished. He's cleaned his own stomach and wiped his face, though when he returns to bed, his mouth still stinks of blood.

Will climbs into bed and Hannibal embraces him. Will shivers at the brush of clotting skin against his arm, eyes fading back to black. He is a hungry creature, starved for far too long. Hannibal will never see him go hungry again.

He caresses Will's face with gentle knuckles. Will sighs, indulging his need for touch that does not chase the desire to sex or bloodshed. Just as Hannibal must allow Will his occasional cruelty, and just as Hannibal is capable of vast and grand acts of destruction, Will must sate Hannibal's need for gentleness between them, to touch Will like the precious thing he is.

Will tilts his head up, seeking, kissing when Hannibal offers his neck. "Thank you," he whispers, voice hoarse like he's been screaming.

Hannibal smiles, and pulls back, showing Will his wrist. Will's eyes flash, darkening further, and he bites his lower lip. "Would you like to cut again?"

Will lifts his eyes, and nods.

Hannibal's smile widens. "Then beg."

With a needy groan, Will rolls over to fetch his knife from the bedside table, turns back to face Hannibal, on his knees, cheeks red and eyes black, and proceeds to beg, pleading in the most lovely, soft way. Coaxing, praising, worshipful. Until Hannibal nods and allows Will to cut again. Deeper, until there will surely be scars.

He doesn't miss how Will's gaze twists with visceral satisfaction, covering the marks of a proxy with his own hand. Hannibal will never allow himself to be marked by another, they know this.

"Perhaps," Hannibal says idly, as Will finishes and cleans his knife, setting it to one side before he wraps a thin pad of gauze and some bandages around Hannibal's arm, perfectly tight just as Hannibal showed him; "You might want to work on my back, next time."

Will's hands go still, for a moment. Only muscle memory allows him to finish with the bandage, clipping it closed. His eyes are wide. "Really?" he whispers. He blinks at Hannibal's chest like he can see the scarred brand through it, his lips parted, panting. His fingers flex. "Really?"

"Of course, darling," Hannibal replies, and pulls Will down by the nape of his neck. He rolls onto his side so Will can touch that very scar, possessiveness and desire in every motion. Will's exhale is shaky, as he slides close, wanton and needy despite his recent orgasm. Hannibal smiles into Will's neck. Will falls asleep with his cheek on Hannibal's shoulder, and Hannibal knows the last thing he sees is his fingers tracing over the edge of the scar.

Thinking. Planning.

Hannibal follows him to dreamland soon after, and smiles when he finds Will already there in his study, sprawled on one of the large leather chairs, waiting for him. Ready for more.

He approaches, shedding his clothes as he goes. He will always make sure Will's hungers are satisfied.


End file.
